The Buckshot Deli and Diner building was a Chinese restaurant for awhile, and now it is the sort of well worn, decidedly down-at-heel place that fits in with decidedly down-at-heel Niland. The building itself is sound, but it has an air of gentle dilapidation. The concrete under the roof overhang is worn, pitted and cracked with the years. Parking out front is on course gravel.
The blaze-orange vinyl booths inside are patched with tape, or just holed with chunks of foam coming out. Yet it has a welcoming air anyway.
The staff match the décor, seamed and weather beaten, but pleasant and likeable as a kindly desert morning. The patrons appeared to be a mix of locals and hunters who are in the area for dove season. The specials were barbequed ribs, and chicken soup with wild rice and cornbread.
One of us ordered a bowl of the soup with cornbread, another the ribs, and I decided on chicken fried steak with potatoes, soup and cornbread. I knew there was no way I would be able to do it justice, since the virus we've all had was doing a number on my appetite on top of the usual effect the Slabs has on me of making me not want to eat much. I probably should have ordered just the soup, but this way I can report to you that behind that funky old roadhouse exterior the Buckshot puts out food almost too good to be true.
That chicken soup . . .it was pale gold, thick and creamy without being cloying, filled with chunks of vegetables and tender chicken that was not at all like the tasteless hunks of Styrofoam you usually get in soup. White and wild rice, just enough to add body without turning it into porridge . . .the stuff was like ambrosia. There was a mix up with the order and somehow I ended up with the full bowl that was supposed to go to my campmate instead of the cup that came with my meal, so they brought him another whole bowl with replacement cornbread and we were swimming in the stuff.
The recipient of the ribs stripped them to the bone, cleaned her plate and pronounced them "really, really good." My chicken fried steak was tender and flavorful on the inside, crispy on the outside and covered in country gravy that tasted like it had actually been made instead of being poured out of a number ten can from a restaurant supply company. Mashed potatoes that must have been real and not reconstituted, huge squares of dense, moist cornbread with just a hint of sweetness, and a little dish of mixed vegetables that I ate every bite of, they were that good. . .I only wish I could have eaten more of all of it.
They brought some to go containers and I took everything I couldn't eat home. Today, feeling like crap, I heated the soup up on KD's stove and had it for lunch. It was just as great reheated, and had awesome restorative powers. I added a liberal amount of pepper to try and open up my stuffy nose.
The menu, covering breakfast, lunch and dinner, isn't hugely expansive and is wholly anchored in the land of solid, unapologetically American cuisine, but what we had seems to prove the point that hole in the wall joints can sometimes be the best, or perhaps that every once in a while in the strangest of places you can get served a damn good meal.
Every day they do a drawing from the day's receipts (they ask you to put your name and number on the receipt). Whoever gets drawn receives a free meal at the Buckshot. Sounds like a pretty good deal to me.
The Buckshot gets the coveted and prestigious Mountain Kimmie Five Trees On The Mountain Award. If you are passing through Niland, give them a try. Find them right on Route 111, running straight through town. Just remember that the kitchen closes promptly at 7:45pm. This isn't the big city.
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